The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

The battle had left them ragged, but the world beyond the chaos remained blissfully ignorant. As Mikhailis, Serelith, and Cerys made their way through the winding alleys, the festival's golden lights flickered ahead, spilling warmth and color onto the cobbled streets. Laughter and music pulsed through the air, and the scent of spiced bread and caramelized nuts wrapped around them like a comforting embrace. Here, in the festival square, people danced, sang, and bartered for glittering trinkets—utterly unaware that just a few streets away, shadow and steel had clashed in desperate silence.

Mikhailis felt a mix of relief and weariness settle in his chest. No screams, no panic—just joy and revelry. The city spun on, oblivious to the danger that had lurked just out of sight. He glanced at Serelith, whose violet hair caught the lantern light, shimmering like a living flame. Her face still bore the fierce edge of their battle, but her smile returned—small, tired, but real.

Cerys walked on his other side, her posture still tense, a hand hovering near her sword hilt even now. Her amber eyes scanned every face in the crowd, every shadow between the stalls. The wild rush of battle hadn't left her completely. Mikhailis knew that feeling all too well—the haunting echo of combat, a ghost that clung to your senses long after the fight was over.

"Relax, Cerys," he murmured, giving her a gentle nudge. "Unless one of those kids is secretly a knife-wielding assassin, I think we're safe."

"Kids have knives sometimes," she muttered, though a hint of a smile pulled at her lips. "Don't let your guard down just because the music's loud."

Serelith chuckled, her voice a soft, teasing lilt. "Always the vigilant knight. Maybe we should just wrap you in a blanket and hand you a cup of warm milk."

Cerys shot her a glare. "Try it, and I'll wrap you in that blanket instead—tightly."

Mikhailis snorted, then glanced back. The old fortune-teller shuffled just behind them, her patched shawl pulled tight around her shoulders, her wrinkled face still pale but no longer trembling. The shawl fluttered slightly, its colors faded but warm, a reminder of her survival. The old woman's voice came thin but steady. "My tent… it's just around the corner. Please… allow me to thank you properly."

Mikhailis hesitated, a part of him wanting to leave this night behind and sink into his own bed. But then Serelith's soft hand looped around his arm, and her gentle smile met his. "We can't refuse a grateful old lady. Besides, I could use a bit of tea."

Rodion's hovering form brightened slightly, his voice a gentle, calculated whisper.

<The fortune-teller's vital signs indicate moderate shock. Warmth and hydration will aid recovery. Additionally, your group displays signs of fatigue and minor injuries. Tea would be advisable.>

"See?" Serelith grinned. "Even the walking lantern agrees."

<Correction: Advanced Artificial Intelligence with multifunctional capabilities. Not a walking lantern.>

Cerys chuckled, shaking her head. "You walked right into that one."

The fortune-teller's tent appeared at the end of a winding alley, its fabric flaps fluttering with each passing breeze. The old woman held them open, bowing slightly as they entered. "Please, come in. I won't take much of your time."

The interior was a cozy jumble of trinkets and talismans. Shelves lined with dusty scrolls and glass baubles that caught the candlelight, casting tiny rainbows onto the patched walls. Incense smoke curled in lazy spirals, carrying the earthy scent of myrrh and lavender. Cushions, mismatched but plush, were scattered around a low table, already set with a chipped teapot and a collection of mismatched teacups.

"Make yourselves comfortable. I'll have tea ready in just a moment," the fortune-teller muttered, bustling to a cracked stove where a small copper kettle already simmered. Her frail hands worked with surprising speed, arranging cups, stirring in a pinch of dried leaves, and plucking a jar of honey from the cluttered shelf.

Mikhailis settled onto a cushion, letting out a long sigh as his muscles finally relaxed. Serelith stretched beside him, her elegant form sinking into the soft fabric, a pleased hum escaping her lips. "I could sleep here," she murmured, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment.

Cerys, ever the sentinel, chose a spot near the tent's entrance, sitting cross-legged with one arm resting on her knee, the other never far from her sword. "Just don't fall asleep too fast. Knowing you, you'd set the tent on fire if you have a nightmare."

Serelith's lips curled. "If I do, it'll be a dream of setting you on fire, dear wolf."

"Try it," Cerys countered, her grin sharpening. "I'll toss you into the nearest fountain."

Mikhailis chuckled, a warmth blooming in his chest. These two—they were a storm and a wildfire, constantly clashing, and yet… they were family. A strange, mismatched family, but his family nonetheless.

The fortune-teller brought the teapot over, the thin scent of spiced tea wafting out as she poured into the cups. "I… I cannot thank you enough," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "If not for you, I… I don't even want to think…"

Mikhailis waved it off gently. "Really, you don't owe us anything. Just rest easy. The guards will clean up the rest."

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to Rodion's floating form, her expression a mix of awe and confusion. "You… you travel with a guardian spirit?"

Rodion inclined his glowing form slightly.

<Not precisely. I am an artificial intelligence—an advanced construct designed for analysis, combat support, and general assistance.>

The woman blinked, then shook her head as if trying to clear it. "Such magic… I never imagined…"

Serelith's laughter was a gentle chime. "Oh, he's not magic. He's something even stranger."

The fortune-teller's expression softened, a faint smile tugging at her wrinkled lips. "You are all such strange souls… But kind. So kind. Please, make yourselves at home. I… I must attend to my grandson. He'll be hungry."

She shuffled to the tent flap, pausing briefly. "Use the tent as long as you need. Consider it a safe place."

Mikhailis inclined his head. "Thank you. And take care of yourself."

With a final bow, the old woman slipped out, leaving the three of them alone beneath the flickering lantern light. The tent rustled gently in the wind, the murmurs of the festival faint but constant outside.

Mikhailis leaned back, staring at the tent's patched ceiling. "This… this might be the best spot in the whole city right now."

Serelith nestled closer, her head resting on his shoulder. "I could get used to this. A quiet night, good company…" Her fingers traced lazy patterns along his arm. "Maybe a bit more privacy."

Cerys cleared her throat, crossing her arms. "Don't get too comfortable. We still need to make sure the streets are clear before heading home."

Mikhailis smirked. "Ever the responsible knight. You know, you could just relax."

"Not when you two are around," Cerys shot back, though her lips twitched with amusement. "Chaos follows you like a hungry dog."

"Which means you always get a chance to show off," Serelith teased. "You love it, don't you?"

Cerys's cheeks darkened slightly. "I… I tolerate it."

Rodion's blue light brightened, a subtle hum of amusement in his voice.

<Your interactions suggest a remarkably cohesive dynamic, characterized by a blend of mutual affection, sarcasm, and mild antagonism. Highly compatible.>

Mikhailis chuckled. "Oh, we're more than compatible. We're a disaster waiting to happen."

Serelith leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "But a very fun disaster."

Before Cerys could retort, Mikhailis straightened, a playful spark in his eyes. "You know, I still don't get how you pulled off that whole shadow army thing."

Mikhailis smirked. "Guess I should tell you."

Rodion floated closer, his lights dimming to a softer hue. The soft blue glow cast faint, rippling shadows against the tent's patched walls, giving the space a dreamlike quality. His voice, as smooth and calm as always, carried a hint of warmth.

<May I suggest a more comprehensive introduction to my functions and the Chimera Ant forces? Transparency may facilitate trust and understanding.>

Mikhailis leaned back against the plush cushion, feeling the subtle weight of his next words pressing on him. The tension in his shoulders refused to ease, but there was no point hiding anymore. He had dragged Serelith and Cerys into his world, a world they never asked to be a part of—but they deserved the truth.

"Yeah… guess it's time for the big reveal." He gestured toward the tent's floor. "Rodion, let them in."

Rodion's core pulsed with a faint glow, and the shadows under the tent flaps seemed to ripple. For a heartbeat, the room grew eerily still, the outside festival noise muffled as if drowned beneath a thick blanket. Then, like ink bleeding across parchment, dark shapes skittered into the tent—Chimera Ant Workers and Soldiers. Their obsidian bodies shimmered under the warm lantern light, each movement smooth, almost graceful, despite their chitinous exteriors.

Cerys's instincts kicked in instantly. Her hand snapped to her sword hilt, muscles tensing, eyes narrowing with the sharpness of a hunter catching a scent. "What the hell—"

"Relax," Mikhailis said, lifting a calming hand. "They're on our side."